The Pellet With the Poison (Is in the Flagon With the Dragon)
by Lena Carr
Summary: "It's really pissing Daryl off, how he's coming to like these assholes." Set in the prison, AU after S3E1 "Seed." Rated T for Dixon language.


**A/N:** At the end.

* * *

I

At dusk, Daryl shouldered the crossbow and his carrysack and followed the gravel dog run down to the slough. A few late skeeters drifted after him like the stench that wafted from the walkers stumbling in the marsh. He trailed his fingers along the fence, taunting the two emaciated figures like a killdeer dragging a wounded wing. The walkers bounced against the mesh, rattling the chainlink in counter-point to the snapping of their teeth.

He sank down onto his heels against the inner barrier and lit a cigarette, watching as the walkers followed the lighter flame in the gloom.

* * *

II

He unslung the bow and settled all the way down to the weed-flecked gravel, digging furrows into the dirt with his heels. The cigarette tip glowed as he pulled on the filter. A third walker jerked itself free of the muck and most of one foot. Daryl blew smoke at the skeeters, eyeing the persistent walker as it dragged itself to the fence, flaying the flesh off its fingers as it clawed up the mesh.

Up the hill behind him, a pale yellow sheet hung over the bars of a concrete cell, where two blue milk-of-magnesia bottles stood by the bunk, doing duty as candle holders, and a pair of tall boots were tucked tidily under the bunk.

He took another drag, then abruptly stood and pulled the empty wine bottle from his carrysack. One handed, he hefted it, then leaned back and flung the bottle straight up.

The bottle rose smoothly, crested the top of the fence, and fell straight back down, landing with a smack on the head of the third walker. The corpse stood for a moment, slack-jawed, before toppling over.

"An' stay out there," he muttered, before snatching up his bow and marching back up the hill.

* * *

III

_Two days previous_

The worst part about the prison was the way it held things. Stuff clung to the walls and multiplied, like the mist-brown cobweb in the high corners that – every so often - shuddered loose and wafted down to drop in the soup just as it was ready to boil. Stench had seeped into the stone, stench and damp, cold in the early morning and heat at the end of the day. The walls were thick and the fences were tall and it seemed that everything had gotten used to just staying.

The prison held memories, too – like echoes of voices long gone by, but now returned, confused and searching for the throat that had given voice to them. The sense of it – order, authority, law, everything that Daryl had hated about the world Before - it was soaked into the concrete and came creeping out to pounce on him when he wasn't looking.

Merle'd done time in a place like this, down south of Macon – a year stint for dealing in stolen goods.

Four months in, Daryl had gone to see him.

Merle had been off the sauce, eating good, working out. Bitching, still, but happy.

"I swear I am at least the third-smartest man in this place, little brother. Would you believe I got half of the block believing I was Dennis Hopper? Buncha fucking morons."

He'd gone on like that for most of the hour, while Daryl had sat and listened and tried not to flinch every time a door slammed.

He'd promised Merle he'd be back. Wasn't the first promise Daryl'd broken, or the last.

Then the world ended, and now here Daryl sat, living in a prison, sleeping in a cell, wearing guard uniform trousers and working alongside former inmates.

Merle would have shit himself, laughing.

* * *

IV

Merle would have laughed, too, to see Daryl cozying up to all these people. First the remains of the Atlanta camp, and at least he'd fought that. (He had. He didn't need these people, he didn't want these people, they weren't _kin_.)

But he'd been on the road with them too long. _Trail dust is thicker than blood_. After that first winter, whenever he looked at them, he didn't see strangers any more. He saw men he'd fought beside, women who'd fed him. People he'd risked his neck for, who had bound his cuts and saved his worthless ass. People he'd die to protect.

It had faded some, once they made the prison. Carol slept in separate cell, behind a door. Glenn spent his waking hours with Maggie. Maggie spent her time fussing over her father and his short leg. Lori died. T-dog died.

Rick went a little crazy.

That left Daryl, for lack of _anybody the fuck else_, much less _anybody competent_, to manage the new guys.

He'd almost shot the lot of them, or at least the greaser Tomas, that first day. A damn water moccasin, the kind that jumped in the water to chase you, looking for a chance to kill you. Rick'd come close, real close.

Maybe it would have been better, if Rick had killed Tomas then. Maybe the little guy Andrew wouldn't have gone all crazy and let the walkers in, maybe Lori and T would have lived.

Maybe.

The three of them slept separate, but it didn't take long for them to start begging a place at the table. (Beth and Glenn were both too damn soft hearted for their own good.) The next week, Daryl caught Oscar and Axel hauling water so Carol could wash their clothes. Oscar proved to be a steady hand on runs, quiet and careful. Tomas crawled up on the roof and rigged a water collection system. No more hauling water.

And then it was winter again – a chilly sunlit afternoon, and Daryl sat tuning Merle's bike while Axel jostled his elbow and handed over tools. Down at the pig-pen, Oscar beat rebar stakes into the ground, while Rick and Carl nailed up a tin windbreak.

When Daryl looked up, he could see Carol hanging clothes on the line.

"Mighty fine woman you got there," Axel said.

"Shut the fuck up," Daryl said. "Gimme those pliers." Axel grinned.

* * *

V

Daryl lingered over breakfast the next day, thinking about it. Carol _was_ a damn fine woman. Steady, brave, kind. Not a firebrand like Maggie, not a fancy little thing like Beth. Not Andrea's style of pushy-arrogant. Wiser than Lori.

She deserved someone good, somebody better than that jerk-off of a husband who had died back at the quarry.

It was a wonder how a dickhead like that – shit, Daryl couldn't even remember the guy's name, now – how a guy like that ended up with Carol. Musta been dozens, before the turn, willing to do anything to have those eyes look their way, have that mouth do that grin.

Now, though…

Glenn had Maggie. Rick – still fucked in the head over Lori. Hershel…Daryl sighed, pushed around the bits of grits again. Hershel was old, and he'd lost two wives already.

Much as Daryl hated to think on it, T might have been good for Carol. Both of them church people, quiet. Resolute.

His ear caught the rasp of footsteps just as Carol hustled around the corner. He looked up, expecting a smile, at least a nod, but Carol barely acknowledged him. Instead she crossed directly to the washing-up area, leaned over the shelves and ran her hands over the counter.

Then she started shifting pots around. Daryl rose from the table. "Hey." She shook her head, shoved over a stack of bowls. Her skin was still wet, water trickling down her neck.

"Hey," he said, put a hand on hers. "Tell me."

Her eyes went sideways and back to meet his again. "I lost Sophia's hair-tie."

He swallowed, nodded. "I'll help."

Carol was lying almost flat on the floor, feeling along the stove, when Axel walked through the doorway. Daryl looked up from shaking out the dish towel to see the little shit actually skip a step and bounce to make the ponytail on top of his head wobble.

It must have showed on his face, because Axel blanched and rabbited right back outside. Daryl caught him on the stairs and slammed him against the wall. He jerked the hair tie out and held it before the other man's face.

"You thieving shithead. Where'd you get it from? You snooping around the showers again, trying to bother the women?" God, he'd been half tempted to let Maggie kill Axel, after she'd caught him last time.

"No, no, I swear I wasn't nowhere near the showers! I promised, man! It was in the eating place, on the table, and you know I've been having issues with my hair gettin' in things, I swear I didn't- "

"Well, it ain't yours! Quit taking shit that don't belong to you! Now go give it back!" He stepped back, propelled Axel ahead of him back up the steps.

Inside, he glowered as Axel said, diffidently, "Mz Carol? Were you maybe looking for this?"

The look on Carol's face, though, as she took the hair-tie. He'd have done a whole lot, to have that look aimed at him.

* * *

VI

That evening, Tomas wandered into C-Block after supper. Daryl looked down from his perch and frowned. The three inmates generally stuck to D after the meal. Fortunate, given Axel's digestive reaction to the beans that made half their meals this month.

Tomas nodded decently enough at Beth and admired how well Judith was growing. Daryl set down the bolt he'd been fletching and leaned forward. Tomas looked up, jerked his chin. "Hey, man, how's it hanging?"

"Z'up?"

Tomas lifted his hand, showed a bottle in a brown paper bag. "You got a minute?" When Daryl hesitated, Tomas said, "I'm buying."

They settled outside, sitting against the still-warm brick wall. The last of the color was fading in the west.

Tomas peeled off the lid, offered Daryl the first swig. Jim Beam, cold and sharp. He hissed between his teeth, handed it back to Tomas.

The Mexican saluted with the bottle, drank."Rain tomorrow."

Daryl shrugged. "Looks like."

"Nah, man, I know." Tomas shrugged a shoulder. "In my bones. I can feel the pressure change."

Daryl took another sip, passed it back. "Look, I appreciate you bringing the booze, but you gotta point beyond weather forecasts?"

"Heard you had trouble with one of my boys."

Daryl snorted. "How come they ain't your boys when their clothes need mending or their bellies need filling?"

Tomas snorted. "I like baths inside. You like baths inside?"

Fair enough. "Axel was being a light-fingered little shit, took something wasn't his." Daryl shrugged. "It's over."

Tomas nodded and sat playing with the bottle for a long while. "Don't think I ever said thanks, for taking our side with Rick." When Daryl shot him a puzzled look, Tomas waved a hand at, well, everything.

"This place wasn't so bad, you know, for a shithole lockup. Most of the time. But a couple years back, we had some ugly fuckers from St Louis get thrown in with us. Spent all their time starting fights and making the pigs nervous. Stirring up trouble between guys who were already pissed off. Anyway, things went to shit, and when it went down, it got ugly. They got two of my boys, right at the start, gutted them like sheep, and we couldn't get them to the docs. Bled out, right there on the floor." He took another pull.

"Never smelled so much blood." He stared at the fenceline. Daryl kept quiet, let the silence drag on out. "Thing is, when you homies came in, and just hacked off the old man's leg, it was like I was right back there. And if I gave you guys half an inch, you were gonna kill my boys." He turned to look square at Daryl. "I don't even like those guys. But they're my boys. You got a problem with them, you come talk to me, we'll straighten it out, _comprende_?"

"All right."

"And you know, you got anything for them, you tell me, and I'll make it happen."

_Tell them to stay away from Carol_, rose up in his mouth. But she wasn't his, that he could warn them off.

"Sure," Daryl said, because it was an easy enough thing to agree to.

Tomas nodded, put the cap back on the bottle. "Freezing my dick off out here." He got up, held a hand out for Daryl.

"Heading out on a run, tomorrow, or the next day, if it rains." Daryl shoved his hands in his pockets. "You wanna come with?"

Tomas shrugged. "Water pipe on B block needs work. Take Axel. Little pussy's all tore up, thinks you don't love him no more."

* * *

VII

The next day, it did rain. Daryl ditched plans for the run and shoo'ed Axel off when the man tried to follow him out to the bike shed. He had the barrel firepit lit and the Triumph's brakes half tore apart before he realized he'd essentially left Axel alone with Carol.

It took fifteen minutes, easy, of holding the sides of his head and swearing a blue streak for Daryl to not jump up and run back inside to make sure Axel and Carol weren't up in her cell, making out. Then he got up and kicked over the tool box.

Halfway through the morning, Rick's reflection appeared in the mirror Daryl had propped over the work table. He looked up as Rick ducked in through the drizzle. "Hey."

"Hey," Rick said. He gestured at the bit of light the mirror cast on the table. "That's pretty clever."

"Hershel showed it t'me," Daryl put the screw down carefully on a clean piece of paper. "Something his granddad told him."

Rick nodded, leaned against the door. "Wanted to say thanks." His silhouette still looked strange and unbalanced without the revolver's weight on his hip. "Glenn and Hershel say you've done a lot, keeping the new guys straight."

Daryl shrugged, turned the brake pad over in his hands. "They pull their weight. More'n I expected."

Rick nodded, turned as if to face out toward the slow falling rain. "Maybe we should've let some of those other people in that we found. Some of them might have turned out to be decent people."

"Maybe." One of the groups – less than a month after they had taken the place - had been a greaser family in a beat-up station wagon. They'd had a newborn baby with them – its presence marked by a fussy wail that cut off abruptly when the mother had stuffed her tit in its mouth. Rick had looked them over, and for a moment, Daryl had thought that he'd relent and let them in. But then Rick's eyes had drifted aside, as they had far too often that summer, and Rick had shaken his head and sent them on.

Judith was going through colic, again – or so Carol said – and spent half the night crying.

They risked themselves whenever they went out. The baby needed to eat, and mustard greens weren't cutting it. Carol had said half the problem was trying to transition the baby to solids a little too fast.

Having that momma around might have helped.

"Or," Daryl said, eyeing the tension in Rick's shoulders. "Maybe we wouldda woke up and found them cutting our throats, sucking our blood, you know. Whatever the hell happens when you let vampires in."

Rick snorted at that stupidity, as Daryl figured he would. "I don't think we have to worry about that."

"Come on, don't give me that shit." Daryl sat the brake assembly down and shook the allen wrench at Rick. "We got dead people walking around, Hershel's expecting the second coming tomorrow, you hear people talking who ain't there, Beth swears she's seen an angel in the tombs. How come vampires got to be any different?"

"Next you'll be telling me you took another shot at a chupacabra."

"Don't make fun. Tomas seen it too."

And then Rick did laugh, a full rolling laugh that sounded like it started down at his boots and lifted clean up through the top of his head.

It wasn't that funny, but Daryl joined in. "Just don't make any crossroad deals on your run tomorrow," Rick said, and went back out into the rain.

* * *

VIII

It was another two days before the world dried out enough to warrant a run. Daryl had gone out before in worse, but the mudhole down the hill was bad enough to swallow the dinky Jap car on good days.

He made Axel drive.

"Man, I really do appreciate this. I really wanna help, you know, pull my weight…"

"Shut up. Eyes on the road." Daryl glared at the map. He didn't want to look at the road, or at Axel. And he especially didn't want to look at Axel's new fucking haircut, courtesy of Carol and a rainy afternoon.

"You ever think of trying to the east? We don't ever go over there, might be some really good finds –"

"Ain't going east. You just drive where I tell you." They'd gone east a couple times. It made the hair on the back of his neck crawl, like someone was watching. Which was stupid.

Like Axel. And his hair.

"You think we'll find some good stuff out there? Like, useful things? Man, I hope –"

"Left here," Daryl said, and set his teeth when the left-hand tire thudded over the centerline.

The town had three city limit signs, three bars, four gas stations – including one that doubled as a grocery store – and a brand-new chain pharmacy, grand opening banners still hanging off the red metal roof.

The shelves were stripped, but the door to the store room stood firm. Five minutes with the crowbar and, "Jackpot," Daryl said, playing the light over the boxes stacked from the floor almost to the ceiling. A narrow window hung open at the top of the stack. "Here, you take-"

The dog came out of nowhere, snarling, and hit Daryl behind the knees. He fell backwards, scrambling for his bow. Axel's light fell on the dog – a tan bitch, tits dangling – for two heartbeats. Then she disappeared into the darkness before noisily scrambling up the wall of boxes. She paused at the top, holding a yellow pup by the scruff of the neck, before diving out the window.

Daryl lay there a minute, staring after the dog and struggling to get his breathing under control. "Sonovabitch!" he shouted, and slammed a fist against the floor.

"Hey, lookit," Axel said. In the corner of the storeroom, the rest of the litter lay in a nest of polyester jackets.

Which was how Daryl ended up driving back while Axel held a pair of squirming dogs in his lap.

"I ain't fucking feeding them," he said, and regretted it as soon as the women caught sight of the pups.

"Oh my god!" Maggie held up the spotted one, while Beth cuddled the brown pup. The dogs wiggled and clawed, whining. "Oh, Axel, they're beautiful!"

Daryl shook his head, carried a box of formula and canned sardines over to where Carol stood with Judith on her hip. "Hey."

She grinned at him, a quick quirk of the lips. "Didn't expect you to bring back more mouths to feed."

* * *

IX

Problem was, Alex talked Daryl into dragging back more than dogs.

Once they had cleared out the milk cans, and the canned goods, and the small stash of medications under the pharmacy front window, there wasn't much room in the car. Add in blankets, more sewing notions, a box of canning jars, all the bleach and ammonia they could find, blankets, soap, and the women's monthly stuff and Daryl couldn't even see out the back. Then they went back for booze and cigarettes.

"Come on, man, it's just a couple more," Axel whined, a tote bag of wine bottles in his arms. "I helped you put in all that beer and those nasty cigar things."

Daryl, a dog scruff in each fist, had leaned his head back and scowled at the sky. "Fine. But they go under your feet, not on the damn dash. Hurry up and take your fucking mutts."

He didn't expect Axel to display the bottles as soon as they returned, but the gambler was cannier than Daryl thought – and maybe he'd deliberately brought the dogs to use as a diversion. In any case, Axel kept the wine hidden until supper, when he excused himself from the table early and came back with "dessert." Which got a round of applause that put to shame the accolades Carol had received for the meal itself.

"And for the lady of the hour," Axel said, holding out a last bottle with one hand. With the other, he made that scrape-at-the-bangs gesture he hadn't gotten rid of yet. "Because I know you like blue, see, and this would make a really nice candle stick. For your room."

Daryl clamped his jaw shut around _what the fuck do you know about her room_, and did not smash the blue bottle out of Axel's hand. He'd found those medicine bottles for Carol, six months back.

Then he caught sight of Carol's expression, looking at the bottle. She just stood there, the heavy pot in her hands, and stared at the blue thing like she expected it to explode.

Axel was oblivious. "Here," he said. "For being such a nice lady, and cutting my hair."

Maggie looked up, finally, from the puppy in her lap. "Is that Moscato? Axel! I call dibs on your next hair cut!" She dumped the dog in Glenn's lap, snatched up the bottle, and started prying at the cork.

* * *

X

"I don't – it was really sweet of him." Carol leaned against the pot cabinet, her arms folded against her torso. In the early light, everything was grey, and everything grey was silver. "And I'm glad he liked his hair. Just."

Her footsteps on the steps had jolted Daryl from sleep. When he came downstairs, it had been to find her there, staring across the common room at the empty blue bottle, standing forlorn on the table.

Her face was composed, calm. Daryl waited.

"Ed bought a bottle, every Valentine's Day."

He picked up the bottle. "I'll take care of it." She nodded, turned to start breakfast.

After breakfast, he climbed to the roof. Oscar and Tomas stood staring down the side of the building.

"It looked long enough," Tomas said as Daryl approached.

"But it ain't," Oscar said.

Tomas gestured with the wrench in one hand. "If you held me over the side, -"

"I could drop you on your fucking head. No." Oscar looked up, nodded at Daryl. "Hey."

Tomas half-turned, nodded absently, then regarded Daryl with a speculative look.

"Hey, Country, you doing anything?"

Which was how Daryl ended up flat on his belly beside Oscar, clinging to Tomas's pants-leg as the greaser dangled off the side of the building. Tomas cursed the fitting, Daryl swore at the drop. Oscar cussed them both.

When they had Tomas back up on the roof, Daryl rolled to his feet, dusted grit from his knees.

Oscar lay staring up at the sky. "We ain't doing that again, man."

Tomas slapped his shoulder. "Pussy." He squinted at Daryl. "You came up here for something."

"Yeah." He took a deep breath. "Axel needs to leave Carol alone."

Tomas frowned, nodded slowly. "That how it is?"

"Yeap," Daryl said, and headed for the ladder.

* * *

XI

He came in from late evening watch to find Carol minding a pot of soup and out-waiting a basin of washwater. She looked up from the book in her hands. "Hey."

Carol made as though to set the paperback aside, but he waved her back down and went to dip out soup for himself before sitting down across from her and reaching for the cornbread. She pushed the oil jar to him then turned back to her book.

"That's new," he said, waving his spoon at the volume. "You like it?"

She nodded, closed the book on a forefinger. "It's an adaption of Shakespeare. _Much Ado About Nothing_."

He snorted. "Sounds like life around here, some days."

She smiled briefly, opening the book again. "Sure. If we had clumsy watchmen –"

"Yeap." Axel had fallen most of the way down the guardtower steps that morning.

"- feuding brothers –"

"Rick an' Shane count?"

"-suspicious fathers-"

"Hershel."

"- and virtuous maidens left at the altar by jealous boyfriends."

"Think we're fresh outta them." He reached for more cornbread and mopped up the last of the soup. When he looked up, she was staring at him over the edge of the book.

* * *

XII

He leaned forward, drawing breath to speak. Before he could open his mouth, Axel wandered in, Oscar striding behind him.

"Hey, Carol," Axel chirped, and sat down beside Carol. "Wacha readin- hey!" he squawked as Oscar gripped one elbow and levered him back up again.

"You. Out." Oscar said. The door slammed behind them.

Daryl looked back to see Carol grinning at him.

"His haircut looks good, don't you think?" She smiled, shutting her book as she stood. "Turning in now." He stared after her, emotion rolling in his gut. In the door way, she stopped and looked back at him. "I could cut yours tomorrow."

Daryl stared at the empty doorway for a long time, the sides of his mouth curving like hers had.

* * *

_End_

* * *

**A/N:** Title from "The Court Jester." Inspired in part by Sweettooth, who, in response to my story "Three Rains Past" asked for more of notevil!Tomas.

Written for the USS Caryl "Choose your Poison" challenge. The challenge was one of the following: a "Fix-it" of some sort, or something from a list of twelve elements. I, uh, decided to do all of them. In order. And with a word limit setting - 100 words for the first section, 200 for the next, up to 600, and then declining in size again.

No, I don't know why I do these things. Some people juggle geese.

Thanks ever so for reading this far. Constructive crit and feedback of all sorts hugged until the stuffing comes out.

(List of plot elements follows.)

*The story takes place in the late evening.

*The story must involve a bottle of wine at the end.

*During the story, someone is mistaken for someone famous.

*The story takes place in mid-winter.

*During the story, a character discovers an item they thought they had lost.

*The story is set during a riot.

*Vampire au.

*Puppies.

*A character will have their hair cut, and they are surprisingly over-enthused about it.

*The story begins on a cliff.

*Someone is left at the altar.

*During the story, a kidnapping occurs


End file.
